


The Story of Oink

by thememoriesfire



Category: Skins UK
Genre: Crack, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thememoriesfire/pseuds/thememoriesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naomi loves her pig t-shirt. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of Oink

"I dunno about this, really," Emily said, looking at herself in the mirror dubiously.

Naomi stepped in behind her with a satisfied little smile. "I told you it would look great."

"Hon, it's like a _dress_ on me... and it's got a hole in it," Emily said, gently, reaching for one of Naomi's hands so as to take any sting out of the insult.

Naomi frowned. "Are you—are you calling it ugly?"

"No, no," Emily hastened to say, turning around to kiss Naomi on the lips. "No, it's a lovely shirt, and a lovely pig."

" _He,_ " Naomi corrected, still scowling. "It's a _he,_ and his name is Oink."

"Right," Emily said, trying very hard not to laugh, but then Naomi's hands working their way under the Oink shirt were appropriately distracting.

"And you look fucking _hot_ right now," Naomi repeated, staring at Emily's chest—or maybe at Oink, it was difficult to tell.

"Okay, hon," Emily agreed, and looked down to see Oink's face distorted by Naomi's wandering hands. "It's a hot shirt."

"Damn right," Naomi said, emphatically, before yanking Emily up by the shirt for a deep kiss.

The way Naomi's mouth was working against the side of her neck, moving wetly to her jaw, made Emily almost forget about the t-shirt. Almost, because Naomi's hands were heavy, her caresses bordering on rough. When she palmed Emily's tits, Emily groaned and reached for the bottom of the shirt; she'd take it off herself.

"No. No, no, no, no," Naomi whispered plaintively.

"I'm taking the shirt off," Emily replied breathlessly.

"But _why?_ "

"Well, God, it's—touch me, more," Emily said, confused. "Let me take it off so you can touch me—"

"I can work around it," Naomi assured her, and pushed Emily back onto the bed.

"Right," Emily said again, and watched in the mirror as Naomi crawled towards her, slowly inching the shirt up until it started to compress the pig's face—when she pulled it back down a bit, smoothed it out, and maybe even smiled at the pig—no, Oink—and really, all of this was a bit weird, but—oh.

Two fingers, inside her, and Naomi hovering above her, staring intently at the shirt.

"I like this shirt," Emily managed, and she could give a fuck about the smug look on Naomi's face if her fingers were doing that.

"It's the _best_ shirt," Naomi said, reverently, and bent down to lick at Emily's nipple through Oink's face.

And, alright, _fine,_ because this felt much too good to protest. It wasn't like the pig shirt was a fetish... Emily started to think about that, but then Naomi's fingers did something completely magical and Emily's eyes rolled back into her head and really thinking was out of the question.

Later, when Naomi's cheek was pressed to her chest—right up against that insufferable pig face—Emily recovered enough to ask. "So, why's it called Oink, then?"

"He," Naomi retorted, sighing heavily. "He's a pig, Emily."

Emily tried very hard not to sound...judgmental. "Yeah, but it's, like, a shirt."

"What?" Naomi said, after a pregnant pause.

Emily wriggled uncomfortably and wished she'd never said anything. "You know. It's a _shirt._ "

"It is—okay, you know what? Fuck off, then," Naomi said, rolling away with a huff and huddling under the blankets.

"Naomi..." Emily tried, and looked down at her own chest to see if she was missing something. Maybe it was because her eyes were watering up, or crossing, from this angle, but it almost looked like Oink—no, the stupid fucking _shirt_ —was smirking at her.

"He's been in my life a lot longer than you have, and you would do well to remember that," Naomi muttered angrily into her pillow, and then yanked on the rest of the covers to steal them.

Emily made a mental note: _at first possible opportunity, set pig shirt on fire._

"Naomi," Emily said patiently. "You can't honestly—" Was she well and truly upset about this ridiculous pig shirt? _Fucking hell._

And Naomi, still huddled beneath the blanket, snorted, "Don't try and tell me what I do or don't feel, Em."

"But—" Emily looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Counted to five. "Please, don't be angry. I'll do that thing you like, yeah?" She reached beneath the blanket and touched Naomi's back, ran her fingers up and down the ridges of her spine soothingly. "And, honestly, I don't mind the shirt," she lied.

"Don't _mind_ it?"

Emily bit back a sigh. "What I mean is—It reminds me of the lake, and, like, taking it off you—"

"All you can think of is _taking it off,_ isn't it?"

"No, sorry—that's not what I meant," Emily quickly assured Naomi, scooting in a little bit closer though it seemed risky to do so. "What I meant is, it reminds me of... of how beautiful you were, that night."

"Hmph" was all that came from the pile of covers.

"Yeah, you looked—luminescent," Emily tried, because big words usually worked well on Naomi, who of course was not a snob, but okay. "And it's partially because of the sh—because of Oink, obviously."

"Really," Naomi said, sounding both irritated and interested all at once.

"Yeah, his—white is a good color on you," Emily fumbled, and then squared her jaw; if pig praise is what it was going to take to not have Naomi be such a twat, she would just _commit to it_. "And Oink is just so—so approachable, you know? You look softer, in the shirt."

Naomi was quiet for a moment, but then rolled over and looked at Emily with really wide, really serious eyes. "Can I tell you something?"

"Always," Emily said, mentally bracing herself and biting the inside of her cheek to not accidentally laugh.

"If—if he hadn't been there, that night..." Naomi started, and then looked down at Oink, almost _lovingly,_ Emily realized with a bit of dawning horror, but then Naomi continued, "... well, I don't think I would have, you know. He gave me the courage to..." She bit her lip and smiled, at the end, and then reached out with one finger to trace a line down Oink's nose.

It would've been a beautiful moment, Emily thought later, had it not been between Naomi and her _fucking shirt._

"Right. Well." Though she tried to understand, to be a _good girlfriend,_ Emily couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up in her chest until she had to release it, pretending she was in the midst of a coughing fit.

"You alright?" Naomi asked suspiciously, her hand flat on Emily's chest, still stroking lazily. And, though God knew that fucking pig shirt did absolutely nothing for Emily, Naomi's hand on her tit was another matter.

So Emily decided to carry on, for the good of getting properly shagged, at least. Thinking it would please Naomi, Emily smiled and said, "You know, I'm rather envious."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "How'd you mean?"

"I mean, well, I wish I had, you know, a sh—An Oink of my own, you know?"

It was impossible to measure the degree to which Naomi's face lit up. "You do?"

Emily pursed her lips and looked away because Naomi's earnestness was bloody killing her. "I imagine it'd be impossible to find...another." She gasped suddenly, because Naomi, in her enthusiasm, had begun lightly twisting Emily's nipple.

It was then that Naomi, very seriously indeed, said, "I only say this because I love you, right? But, well, I suppose we could, I dunno, share him?"

Emily gasped again and let out a little half-moan.

"But you've got to understand the ground rules," Naomi continued, still running her palms over Emily's tits, occasionally pinching a nipple.

"Rules?" Emily managed, closing her eyes as Naomi's other hand began to wander down side, onto her thighs.

"Mmhmm," Naomi agreed, rolling on top of Emily and slowly nibbling down her neck, nudging the corner of the shirt aside affectionately when she got there.

"There's rules?" Emily said, again, a little bit astounded though—not really.

"Number one," Naomi said, and lifted up to look at Emily, assessing her seriousness about this whole thing, and Emily clenched her teeth together because it was very hard, being serious, with Naomi's hands knowing exactly where to go and when to go there.

"Yeah, number one," she forced out, and then tipped her head back when Naomi's nails traced up her inner thigh. "I'm ready—for number one, I mean."

"Oink does _not_ like jeans," Naomi said, and punctuated the statement with a small nip on Emily's shoulder, just to the right of the shirt.

"No jeans," Emily repeated, and then moaned, and spread her legs a little bit more. "Right, no jeans, I don't even—I don't wear trousers, you know that—"

"No jean _fabric,_ " Naomi clarified, fingertips teasing but not really going where Emily wanted them, even though her hips were straining upwards. "So you can't wear that jacket that you—"

"For God's sake, will you just _fuck me?_ " Emily interjected, and reached down for Naomi's wrist, pulling on it until there was finally some contact.

"Don't call it that," Naomi said, quietly, and then nodded in the direction of the shirt. "Rule number two—don't make him witness to anything perverted. It's _lovemaking_ when he's here."

Emily's eyes rolled back in her head, but she couldn't tell if it was in pleasure or bafflement.

"Lovemaking," Emily managed, nodding wildly. "Could we make love now, then?" She tugged forcefully on Naomi's wrist, adding a bit of pressure with her nails just to get the point across.

Naomi's lips quirked and, for one delusional moment, Emily thought she'd break down and laugh, like it'd all been a giant game, or something. But, no. "We're not through with the rules, Em," she said, turning her head to kiss Emily tenderly.

"But—What more—?" Emily exhaled roughly, tipping her head back onto the pillow in frustration. While Naomi's fingers were stroking her, the contact did little more than torment. _Why was Naomi doing this?_ "Alright, no denim. Got it. No fuck— _Lovemaking_. Lovemaking's what we do." She raised her hips and twisted them enough, the sudden contact leaving her heady. She gritted her teeth to keep back a loud moan because, honestly, Naomi shouldn't feel the least bit gratified at this point in time. "What more?" Emily whimpered.

Maybe Naomi had a bit more compassion in her heart than she let on, because she took that moment to slide one of her fingers inside Emily, a move Emily approved of with a shaky smile and a hitched breath. Flicking her tongue along Emily's lips, Naomi whispered, "Don't ever wash him."

"Oh God," Emily breathed, before arching up for another kiss.

"Did you get that?" Naomi asked, stilling her fingers in an utterly obnoxious way.

"God, yes—" Emily started, and sighed in frustration. "No washing, ever, no washing. Please, just—"

"Sit up against the wall," Naomi said, and slid further down Emily's body before settling between her legs with an infuriatingly coy smile. "This way, I can watch _both_ of you."

Emily had a thought of protest, knew she wanted to say _that is just wrong_ but all that came out was a strangled groan when Naomi licked her, looking up—at _her,_ not the pig, _not the pig_ —with a teasing grin.

"Repeat the rules, or I'll stop," she said, and Emily knotted her hands in the sheets so tightly that her fingers hurt.

"No jeans, no denim, no fucking, no washing," she started, and was rewarded with another lick. "No _jeans,_ oh, God, please—"

"Don't stop," Naomi whispered, before biting down gently on Emily's inner thigh, and Emily's hips arched off the bed.

"No denim, no fucking—Jesus, no washing, no washing ever, _Naomi,_ " Emily whined, sobbing in frustration when Naomi pulled away again.

"Final rule," Naomi said, before licking her lips.

"Anything, whatever it is, just please don't _stop,_ " Emily rambled, reaching out to push Naomi's head back down.

"You can't tell anyone else about our relationship," Naomi said, quietly, and pinched Emily's thigh to get her attention. "Okay?"

"God, _not a problem,_ " Emily said with a shaky laugh which derailed into a moan when Naomi moved her mouth back down.

Later, she'd deny having climaxed while chanting "no jeans no denim no fucking no washing no telling", but she didn't think either Naomi nor Oink believed her.


End file.
